The smog of New York City surrounds each cement enterprise like a small ring on a large finger. Yellow checkered cars honk through the fog and flash their brights, part of the city's morning routine. Turn signals go unnoticed in the thickness of the rush and toxic air. Shouts of late to work commuters pollute the streets; frustrated ramblings not helping traffic budge an inch. And yet, there is always a bluebird waiting to prove his song.

Outside, people have plans, daring adventures, even as miniscule as trying out that new oddly scented coffee. Inside, behind double paned windows, breathing is the only bullet point on today’s agenda.

On the highest floor of his apartment complex, Taemin is painted across the walls as a top coat; a new inanimate interior addition to be judged, thrown away, and painted over again. Translucent, he has become immune to living. It had been so long since he experienced any crisp, raw bewilderment from life. Any memory that would bring elation or just something had lost its magic; like each memory has become worn down over time.

It wasn't as though Taemin asked for this, that he wasn't dying to be a part of the world below. He is aware of the potential scents that can illustrate an image, the sounds that his heart can listen to, and the sights that can overwhelm him and all his senses combined.

He is locked in that apartment, dictated to remain for all eternity. And this dictator happens to be the one he vowed to spend the rest of his life with. In sickness and in health.

~~

Taemin and Minho met in high school. They gravitated towards each other in their circle of friends, and mutually began to have feelings for one another. Minho, or just "Min" as Taemin liked to call him, had been a pleasant boy who was never afraid to express himself. Although he was known to be struggling psychologically, Taemin grew to love him just the same; welcoming his issues and viewing them as opportunities rather than hindrances. In Taemin’s eyes, Minho was nothing but sweet and helpless, tasting like a child’s favorite candy. He was selfless and giving, and Taemin considered himself lucky. He continuously gave his heart, and loved unconditionally. And so, shortly after finishing college together, they were happily married.

The ceremony was beautiful. Slick tuxedos with turquoise trim, crystalline fountains filled with koi and purified laughter from both Taemin and Minho supplied the audience with breaths of hope and lively expectations for this new couple. Taemin was in nothing short of perfect harmony and anticipation with the rest of the party.

Minho had at times been unusually over-protective, but overall it was a normal relationship, with normal ups and downs.

Until he had walked in on Taemin with another man.

What had transpired to that impeccably wrong timing had nothing to do with Taemin. A “business” party for Taemin’s job hit the fan and he soon found himself under the influence of an, unbeknownst to him, spiked drink. He was lead to an office in the top floor. Barely conscious, Taemin could barely process the slow s and removal of clothing. And that’s when the door flew open and an early arriving Minho to provide the ride home stood in the doorway, blood boiling.

The scene that followed was brutal.  It was just as heartless as it was unexpected. Without missing a beat, Taemin was grabbed by the hem of his shirt and flung to the opposite side of the room with such ease as though he was filled with air. Shock. Shelves crashed, crumbling down upon his head. The man, obviously freaked to his core, stumbled over his words and desperately tried to reassure Minho that "It's all my fault honestly he got a little drunk and I was taking advantage of it" with raised hands to promote innocence.

As though the man didn't even exist, as though he spoke another language, Minho ignored him. Not only was he ignored, but Minho never shifted his anger towards the man, or even considered that it wasn't all entirely Taemin's fault. It was as if Taemin had single-handedly committed treason against the seal of humanity, against the promise of his love. Only red engulfed his eyes and ears. Taemin then received a blow to the face, breaking his nose, blood instantly surfacing and trickling to his chin. Everything was black and white. The last memory Taemin has of that day is a snot and tear stained Minho spitting frantic and infuriated words of betrayal and hurt an inch from Taemin's broken face.

Taemin woke up on the couch of their old home, nose unattended to, still wearing the crinkled shirt stained from blood and tears.  "We're moving to New York," Minho's once familiar and nostalgic voice now sounded foreign and revolting, "where you can stay far away, and never cheat on me again." He returned to his phone call and left the room, calm and steady. Taemin couldn't think, couldn't register the situation or the events transpiring to his pounding head and disorientation. How much time had passed? Everything was happening so fast. Just the other day they began their plans to adopt a child with excited squeals and fervent hugs.

He was grasping for thin air, barely croaking out an almost inaudible, "I've only always loved you... always only you" before blacking out again.

What had transpired after was force. Taemin was forced to do this. Forced to do that. Forced to keep his ing mouth shut. And keep his mouth shut he did. From absolute terror, from fear of the unknown. From the airport to the plane ride to their arrival, Taemin felt nothing but regret. For something that wasn’t his fault. He hated that man, ing hated that man that single handedly ruined his life. Why couldn’t he hate Minho just the same?

The once ethereal seeming city was now home to the horrors of what was to come.

He could not fathom where this cruelty came from. He could never have even imaged Minho acting the way he did. It was psycopathic, and Taemin was too terrified to object to any order. Trembling too often to ever disobey. Strength quickly diminished. He never really understood the depths of Minho’s issues, or what “issues” exactly implied. It was always kept quiet, locked away. Waiting to jump at any opportunity to show itself.

And so, only a week later, Taemin found himself in the peak of one of the highest building New York has to offer. Locked from both inside and outside.

Now, after almost a year, Taemin remains in that same god forsaken room. He is allowed to leave occasionally, closely accompanied by Minho of course; to make sure Taemin doesn’t do something he isn’t supposed to. This consists of unrealistically short strolls inside the complex or, if Taemin has been good, a short walk around the apartment complex, actually outside.

Minho brings in Chinese takeout every night after coming home from work. Whatever the he does for work. If he doesn't remember to pick up dinner, then Taemin will not eat that night and not a word will be said.

And yet Taemin sees all that they were. This is why he can’t bring himself to feel hatred. He looks at Minho, and is so sure that the once sweet boy is still inside. He just knows that the Minho he once loved was still there. And so Taemin tries to love him, to beg forgiveness. Every night that Minho comes home, Taemin smiles and quietly asks how his day was.

The usual reply is “good” with a drop of a takeout box onto the counter. If it’s there at all. And that “good” is usually the most Taemin will ever hear from Minho in a night. Sometimes, due to solely the enriched and self-nurtured love that has been etched into his soul, Taemin tries to redeem himself through physicality. Even just a touch of the hand, the rub of a shoulder. Since Taemin is forced to sleep on the couch and Minho uses the king sized bed, (that takes up 80% of breathing room) the loneliness envelopes every inch of his body until he can almost feel it reflected in everything he touches.

So sometimes Taemin tries to sneak into the king sized bed in the middle of the night and embrace his once so heavily loved one.

He traces the muscles on Minho’s arm and softly hums, using up every ounce of his bravery in an attempt to prove just how loyal and deeply sorry he is. However, as soon as Minho wakes, Taemin’s hand is slapped away with a little more force than necessary. “Go back to the couch and don’t wake me again” is at least more loquacious than a simple “good.”

Taemin is on the brink of insanity. He’s a prisoner of those ing walls, prisoner of his own mind. He is desperate.

And this is how Taemin has lived for a year. Lived – as though there's only one definition of the word. As though his lobotomized life is of quality enough to be compared.

Their once blue wedding was now remembered with a shade of red.

~~

Taemin douses his face in the chilly water falling from the tap of the tiny bathroom in the tiny apartment. His black hair is now overgrown and dangles in his eyesight. He can barely recognize himself. The pink of his cheeks have faded, scratched off, along with his liveliness and enthusiasm to continue. Hopeless.

Taemin will never use possessives. Nothing in that place is his. Not the recycled air nor the splinters from the wooden floor.

Even the iciness of their cheap plumbing can't bring Taemin to a conscious state.

He closes his eyes and slowly turns his head to the bathroom window. Because everything is slow now. Time has lost its place in his life.

Blinking through the dew clustered against his eyelashes, he can make out a tiny bluebird – flying in circles, following the dance of the wind. The distant screeches of wheels losing traction and horns drowning under the weight of taxi driver's palms, was an odd combination with the morning bluebird's songs. But it was something. It was life.

*I swear this is Taekai! Don't give up on me yet.